


Hearts of Stone

by telemachus



Series: Rising-verse [14]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-25
Updated: 2014-01-25
Packaged: 2018-01-10 00:45:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1152787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/telemachus/pseuds/telemachus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Droin son of Dwalin tells the story of his life, and the effect of being Gimli's cousin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hearts of Stone

**Author's Note:**

> this story fits with 'just maybe' - but you don't have to have read that to understand this. although they probably work better if you read that first.

Always, it seems to me, I am the one left behind. Always I am watching him go off on another escapade, another adventure, and I am left to keep watch. 

From when we were young, this is the pattern of our lives.

I suppose there must have been times when he too was left, when just our cousins went off into scrapes and mischief – but I don’t remember. There must have been.

But all I can remember is the three of them – Fili, Kili, and Gimli – and never me. Always I was too young. Too little. 

Or, I think, possibly Fili and Kili were more scared of my father than of Gloin. Gloin, after all, has never really inspired fear in any of us. He was definitely one of my favourite uncles – less prone to lecturing than Balin ever was, less deaf than Oin, better with dwarrowlings than any of the Ri uncles – or my own father, Dwalin. 

I think a part of me always envied Gimli that – envied him that close family. Not that Father was ever unkind, but – tough. Possibly he and Mother were more as you would expect dwarves to be. They loved each other, me, my brothers – but they were rarely affectionate. Not ones for stories, for long talks. No, from a young age, we learnt that if we wanted stories we must find an uncle, imagine a story, or, when prosperity came, read a book.

Whereas I think Gimli always envied the rest of us having brothers – he used to say it was hard to be an only child, hard to have no-one to hide behind. I used to think it was worse to have brothers but not to feel close to them – my brothers were always allies, and I, the oldest, left to run after our cousins. Until the day our uncle Balin said we were old enough, Gimli and I, to borrow from his books. Then I was content in my own company – yet my brothers suddenly found a use for me. I was the only one who had time to read to them – for all his talk of wanting brothers, Gimli was no more likely to read aloud than to clean them up when they had fallen in the midden – again. Then, then they were my brothers, and he was off with Fili and Kili. I was glad of those books of Balin’s, they were my friends for many years, they became my refuge. 

When I failed my Father, again, and knew I would never be the warrior he wanted, would never help reclaim our homeland, fighting at his side, as he would have had me. When my cousins went off on some expedition they had been warned against – but came back triumphant, perhaps with deer to roast or fish to bake, or just some tale of sights seen, travellers met. When my brothers planned some trick – and I was blamed for not seeing what they were up to, for letting them do such a thing to the great Thorin Oakenshield (somehow it was always Thorin who they loved to hold up to ridicule). When, yet again, Gimli turned away, with an ‘oh Droin, you are such a worrier’ on his lips. – Those books were there for me, they taught me of other lands, other times, other peoples.

They even brought me friends, those books. Not only my brothers, dearly as they loved to be read to, but even my cousins – all three of them learnt that if they wanted to know something, I had probably read the book, learnt the tale. If it was raining and they had been forbidden to go out – and were choosing to obey – I would have some tale of heroes, of war to tell. And although Fili and Kili would pretend to only want tales of mortals – they listened to stories of elves if that was all I felt like telling. Even if they didn’t absorb the wonder of starlight and lands that ever last quite as Gimli did. They were always the more determined that one day, one day everyone would have heard of their battle skills – ‘they might spare a word for you, Gimmers’, they would say – ‘but you, Droin, better practice more, no-one wants to hear about a bookworm’.

Funny how things turn out.

 

That one time, when Thorin took Fili and Kili on the quest to reclaim Erebor – when Gimli and I were both left – I thought we might become friends. And we did, of a sort. Yet – I always felt second-best. I always felt I was not enough fun, too slow, no sense of humour or mischief, too plodding.

Too much a typical dwarf.

Not resentful enough at being left. But – it had never occurred to me that I would go. Father had always made it plain I was no fighter – and he was right and I knew it. Besides, it was clear that Fili and Kili only went because Thorin wished it, would not be without his heirs on such a quest. Possibly no-one wanted to be in charge of them without Thorin – that may have been part of it.

I suppose we had very different feelings about being left. I knew I would have slowed them down, knew I would have failed Father in some way – it is not easy being the eldest son of so fearsome a dwarf as Dwalin. And of course I had no fear for his safety – why would I? Why would anyone ever fear for the safety of my Father? But Gimli – even then, he knew he was not far from his Father’s equal in battle, and he worried about him. I think he felt it was his fault he was left – he thought Thorin still bore a grudge against him. 

There was that time the three of them went off – I don’t know what happened, they came back safe enough – but – there was some talk of them being rescued by elves. And Gimli thanked them. Not really a bad idea, you might think, thanking people who saved your life – but I don’t think Thorin would have seen it that way. Not Thorin Oakenshield. Funny the way things turn out. Of course if Gimli had been with them – and they had still gone through Mirkwood, still been captured by elves – I wonder how differently the quest would have ended. I don’t suppose it would have made that much difference had there been another young dwarf there, another dwarf to sit in wonder, thinking of the beauty of elves, watching stars. But – I wonder how different all our lives would be now.

So – Gimli felt he was unfairly left behind. And I think he worried his father didn’t want to go, but had to – because of what he had done. Like I said, they were a very close family.

And then, when we went to Erebor, and our cousins were dead – things changed. What a stupid thing to say, Droin. Of course things changed. Our cousins were dead. Our Fili and Kili. Our annoying, speaking-in-chorus, teasing, nicknaming, impatient, endlessly energetic, clever, dearly loved, oh so dearly loved cousins. And every time we walked together – there was a space at our shoulders. Every time we passed a bakery, there was none to suggest buying buns – or charming them down like birds from the trees. It took us a long while to feel right, just the two of us, in Erebor, without them. At least, it did me – Gimli was always the confident one.

But – there were so many more of us. Dain had so many people. Suddenly, instead of there being such a small group of us there were hundreds, instead of it being only we cousins, there was a whole group of dwarves our age. That was when we first met Brorild. Brorild and her brother, Blor. And so many others, so many of those who much later left Erebor with us. But somehow, from very soon after our arrival, it was always Blor and I, Gimli and Brorild. They were always the ones with ideas, reckless – we were always the ones to point out why it wouldn’t work, how to make it work. They were always the ones to provide something good to eat – and we were always the ones to accept it, not asking where it came from. And when they needed something – something dull – help with tasks, an evening guard duty changed for a quiet late night or mid-morning – we never said no. We knew we should be glad they included us in any of their plans.

But I liked Dain. I liked his kingdom’s ways. I enjoyed being valuable as a growing dwarf in my own right, being part of something so big as Erebor now was – and I enjoyed that although my Father was respected, he was not the only warrior, that although people were glad to see he had three sons, they did not pity him that I was the eldest. For instead of being always the least skilled, always the weakling, I was the best at languages, at the bookkeeping and reckoning needed for trade, at the keeping of records. 

Although, as my Father would remind me, I still needed more weapons practice – but even that became less of a dreaded ordeal, when it was clear that although no great warrior Dwalin, no axe-wielding Gimli, no inspired and reckless Fili or Kili – I am competent. Nothing more, but at the time, that seemed a lot. Particularly when I found, that for all Brorild could keep up with Gimli, Blor was someone I could train with and not feel discouraged. 

So yes, once we were in Erebor things changed, things were easier for me – I was happier. And with my brothers growing up, becoming more obviously fighters, my Father became less concerned with my lack of skill, and relieved that I was able to find employment, able to work in other ways.

We dwarrows from the Blue Mountains quickly learnt the ways of those from the Iron Hills, quickly learnt their names, their customs – and because we were so few we took on their ways of doing things. Perhaps if Thorin had not died, or if Fili or Kili had lived to be his heir – perhaps it would have been our ways. As it was, we took on the tradition of each age-set becoming its own cohort, having its own drinking place, meeting most evenings whatever the day had been. Not always, of course, there were still evenings spent as a family – but there was always some of the group drinking – and although I have never been as fond of ale as some, I was glad enough not to always stay around the fire with two teasing, growing brothers, a mother lost in craft as always and a father – a father who blamed himself for his king’s death and was determined that it should never happen again. So the friendship of others became more important to me, and indeed I never felt alone again, never felt as left out – yet nor did I ever feel I was as much of a friend to Gimli as I had half-hoped.

A friend, yes. A cousin. My brothers being so much younger, and close, I have probably always been the one he thinks of as cousin – and that is an important connection for dwarves. 

Just – not a close friend. Although I’m not really sure Gimli ever did have close friends – he never seemed to need them. Self-sufficient. Self-contained. Self-reliant. 

Apart from Brorild. They were always together it seemed to me. Just as Blor and I were. And as we began to near the age at which many dwarves marry, I began to wonder how long until my cousin and my friend changed their braids. For if any could marry young – my cousin could. An only child, of wealthy parents, skilled with his axe, always in demand in those troubled times – and yet not unskilled at the forge either. But there was never any sign, so Blor and I decided they must be waiting – there was much uncertainty in the air, and I remember he said that he would not wish to be making declarations at such a time.

But that was not the kind of conversation I could have with my cousin. For all our history together – we were not that close.

 

We never have been. 

But I remember, in those years when we were young dwarves, how we would often travel to Dale, or further abroad, together. Trading – that is what it was called. And I suppose we did trade – but it was really an excuse for a group of young dwarves to have a taste of freedom. To see the world outside the mountain. To practise our languages, to learn to deal with men, and sometimes elves. To improve our bargaining. To hone our skills.

I remember which skills Gimli always wished to hone.

Not that many of us were averse to the idea of – well, drink, and easy company. But – it was always Gimli who was either in another bed or not alone in his in the morning.

Don’t misunderstand – I was not jealous. That is not my nature. I have never desired males of any race. 

At least – I was not jealous for myself. I did not understand how one who seemed so clearly on the way to a happy marriage could behave so. I wondered what Brorild thought of him – I wondered if this was agreed between them – if this was why they did not braid together yet. It was not something I dared ask Blor lest he think I thought his sister slighted – I would not have had that. 

Yet – when I entered a bar and they were sat there, drinking and laughing together – every time I would have to turn away to hide my feelings as they seemed so happy, so perfectly in tune. But by the end of the night, she would be with her brother and I, watching with, it seemed, unfeigned amusement, as Gimli left with another, and Blor and I struggled to remember whose turn it was to track him down and wake him in the morning. 

And that was not either of our favourite tasks. Not a cheerful dwarf in the morning, my cousin. Not one to appreciate being woken – ‘sod off, cousin, am asleep’ – nor to appreciate being dragged out of a comfortable bed – ‘only just got to sleep, been up all sodding night, cousin, just because you slept alone, I have better things to do in bed, go away, sod off’. 

Still, that was how he was. And we both used to sigh, and say – ‘won’t be long until he’s married, then we will never have to wake him again’. I used to think – what will I do with the rest of my life when that happens? Become a devoted uncle, I supposed. My cousin, my brothers, perhaps my best friend – there would be dwarrowlings enough for me to uncle.

I suppose I hoped they would marry and be happy. What else could I in all honesty wish for? I wanted them to be happy. Of course I did. I wanted to be happy too – but – that didn’t seem so likely.

I used to console myself with the thought that my friendship might one day be almost as much to them as it was to me. And – well, I remember thinking he was like enough to his father that those would be lucky children. With loving grandparents too.

Funny how things turn out.

 

I remember when he and his father were sent as part of the delegation to Rivendell. I remember that I was not skilled enough in battle. There was trouble brewing, and it was decided that only those who could be sure to protect themselves on the journey should go. And I blamed my father – for I thought that if he had gone, he would have taken me. But – what king would be fool enough to send one of his best warriors, his general, on such an expedition when he was only too likely to be needed at home? What king would be fool enough to send my father to a valley of elves if there was any choice?

And when the delegation returned, and told us what had been decided – I thought I was not likely to see my cousin again. Those were dark days indeed, and there was not leisure to grieve for one uncertain death when there were so many known at home.

 

Dark days did I say? Indeed they were – for the kingdom of Erebor, for the world, but not for me. For Droin son of Dwalin, those were the shining treasure days of my life, and all else has been but a polishing of steel. 

In those days, our age-cohort was called upon to be ready for war at every moment as the most fully trained fighters yet in the prime of our youth and strength. We were expected also to be aware of all else, ready to step into one of several roles should the older dwarf perish in battle or, unlikely as it seemed, die in the natural course of things. 

During the months of uncertainty, the months of preparation, I found I was busier than I had ever expected to be – much to my Father’s surprise. I was not just needed for translation of messages to other races but for the crafting of treaties of alliance. For not only the men of Dale and Esgaroth wished to ensure peace on their borders, but even the Beornings and elves of the Wood could see sense in such treaties. And so in that time, I was one of those who travelled much to prepare and return such documents – for our King Dain was no longer able to travel, and I think would not have liked to leave the Mountain in such peril.

I had visited Dale and Esgaroth many times, and had even passed through the Wood, and to the edges of the land of the Beornings – as had all our cohort in times of peace for trade. Yet to stay in the great house of the Beornings – that was indeed an honour for those few of us who were invited. I remember Brorild’s delight in the fields of flower pastures even though it was late in the autumn. I remember wishing that I was skilled in some craft that could offer her such beauty in jewels as is the way of our people.

Many days and nights we passed, our small company, in such journeying – for dwarves when need presses take little rest, but instead will keep on, with talk to while away the miles. Often I found I was alongside Brorild, and I wondered if it were truly chance, or if it was her design. Yet I was no brave warrior, no golden-tongued persuader – I dared not speak, and in truth it seemed hardly the time to talk of new beginnings. And there was always a hesitating part of me that wondered – she was warrior-trained – did she value me for talk of my cousin only?

So indeed, we became I believe the first dwarves welcomed (or at least not marched at knife and bow-point) to the Halls of the Woodland Realm. Funny how things turn out. Very plain we thought them – elves are lacking in the skill of building. Elves lack not skill in fair and courteous words though – even their proud king was gracious to us, for there was need of alliance. I remember we carefully did not mention dungeons or barrels – yet I suppose we all looked about us hoping to see signs of the story we knew so well. 

Very different all those treaties had to be. The men – they are short-lived, and desired the protection of the Mountain – they swore great fellowship and mutual aid. The Beornings are people of their word, but will think carefully what they promise – they swore aid and succour in this war – unto their own ability to give, but no further. 

The elves – are more cautious. That took much discussion, but they were as willing for peace as we. I say they – I think only the voice of one elf was ever heard in that land – say rather, King Thranduil desired a settled peace on that border, desired to be able to concentrate his fighters where he needed them most. We came to an agreed wording at last – that there would be no encroachments during time of war against the foes of all, that boundaries and agreements would stand as they had for so long, unless one party be defeated totally.

“In which case,” he said, “I wish you dwarves joy of my woods – for in the end I would rather they burn to forge weapons against orcs than for them. And in likewise, I believe your king would rather see his gems valued here than corrupted to the service of the enemy.”

And – it was not a pleasing thought, but I could not find fault with his logic. Indeed, when the matter of aid was discussed, again he spoke coldly, yet with logic, no heated hatred was there in him;

“I will not spend the lives of my people to protect any other,” and I heard in my mind the hiss of both Thorin Oakenshield and my Father, “yet this I will offer – that any of your folk who come in need to me or mine shall be sheltered, healed, made ready to fight again or flee – or even stay and work in our halls until the world seems safe again to them.”

It seemed to me, to all of us in the delegation, that this was much, and that we could only, in fairness, offer the same. Though we suspected that it would take the destruction of all other refuges before any of either side would accept such an offer, it seemed in those days that such destruction was possible and should be prepared for.

Yet despite such desperate thoughts, I was happy. Happy as I never was before or since. For more and more in our journeys together, I began to believe that truly Brorild, this beautiful, word-skilled warrior, cared for me. That it was not accident or chance that had our ponies so often in step – though it certainly was not my design for I am not one to manage such things, however I might wish for them. 

So when we returned to the Mountain, and Dain praised our work, and my Father raged and condemned as craven the treaty with the elves – none of their words touched me as did her praise, her understanding given with only a small half-smile and a meeting of eyes.

But after the time of the treaties, I saw less of her – for I was then busy in the records room, in the treasury, making sure that the kingdom was prepared, had reserves, had knowledge stored in many places. For, like Thranduil, Dain foresaw that all might go ill – yet utter destruction not come, and a rebuilding must be prepared for.

So, though I did my weapons training, I trained at odd times, not always with my cohort – and in truth, I would never have trained alongside Brorild, for she was one of the most skilled of our age. Had her father been one to go to Rivendell – perhaps my cousin would have not been alone in that famous Fellowship. What a difference that would have made to so many lives.

I thought our friendship forgotten, thought I had missed whatever small chance I had had, for on those few evenings when I had opportunity to go drinking, she was always surrounded by other warriors, always in some discussion of weapons or tactics – or laughing over happenings of the day. And though sometimes our eyes met, and I longed to speak, she never did, never gave me a sign – and I was afraid. 

Then the darkest days indeed came. For war was upon us, we could see the fighting approach us, and I felt so alone. King Brand of Dale was driven back by the armies of the enemy, and as we had sworn, so our warriors went out to his aid, and a great battle was fought at the Mountain’s feet. So say the histories, and I too would willingly forget all details. Many of my friends, of my kin, died there. I could list them now, but for the sorrow it would bring me. No house I think was without loss – and indeed my parents were lucky as it was then counted – for of three sons, and they too fighting, only one was lost. Yet I do not think they felt lucky the day my brother, my dear reckless, foolish brother, my Fróin fell in battle. Fell fighting bravely, skilfully, but – recklessly. 

I remember my uncles trying to offer comfort – but what comfort can be offered grieving parents? Glóin offered the slight help of his own pain – that to know the worst was better than living in the agony of unknowing that he had been in for months. Bofur – that Froin would be buried in honour, in his homeland, never forgotten as long as Erebor lasts and the history of those days is learned (which at that time did not seem long at all). Dori – the mercy of a sleeping draught for nights that were so long – yet my poor Father dared not take it when another battle could be upon us at any moment. And so he had to lie awake, night after night, in the agony of knowing that in trying to do his duty and save his King, he had lost his son – and yet in the end failed to save his King. The third King he had watched die, the third young fighter he had trained with so much love to end in the agony of an orc’s blows, for at dark times unbidden returned the memory of Fili and Kili, my cousins he so loved, my cousins whose names my brothers’ echoed.

And the days were so dark there was not even time for the indulgence of grief, for the singing in despair in which dwarves find – not comfort but – strength to continue, praising Mahal our creator. For after the end of that battle we were besieged, surrounded by armies of the enemy, and with all that were left of our allies from Dale and Esgaroth trapped with us, we knew there was no aid to look for. Those of the Iron Hills would not come this time – they had their own battles to fight. There were no dwarves in Khazad-dum to come to us, no dwarves anywhere. The Beornings had given such aid as they were able, we could not ask for more.

The elves? We knew better than to look for aid from Thranduil. He would perform all he had promised, that we trusted, but no more. Indeed, for all that I, and others of the treaty-makers, were blamed for not agreeing aid, I do not think the elves could have sent aid at that time if it had been agreed. I have heard since that they were hard-pressed themselves, and had to call in aid from their far estranged kin – and pay for it in after days. Which may have been a comfort to my Father, and to Thorin if he can watch this world from the Halls of Waiting.

Those days were dark, I said, but – there was one bright moment. One shining jewel in all that darkness. For I came upon Brorild, while I was hurrying from one place to another, as was she, I suppose, and when I would have passed with just a greeting, she stopped me;

“Dróin,” she said, and how I loved to hear my name as she said it, “I wished to tell you I grieved for your loss of Froin; he was a foolish dwarrowling – but he was your brother.”

“He was,” I said, “and I knew not how much that meant until he was gone. I thank you,” and I would have walked on, but she spoke again;

“I – I have not seen so much of you these last days – weeks – I – I miss our travelling.”

And though I knew that all must miss those last weeks of peace, I thought perhaps I did not deceive myself – that she meant more than that.

“I too,” I answered, “but – I am no warrior, no Gimli, to seek your company at such a time.”

“I am a warrior,” she smiled, “do you not think I can value other skills?” and she reached out. As her hand met mine I blushed – and I could not meet her eye, but she continued, “Droin, I miss you – must I say more?”

Then I found I was able to look at her, and as we smiled I held tight to her hand,

“I miss you too – but I thought – I cannot be enough?”

And at that she laughed, “Oh Droin, dearest of dwarves – can you honestly not imagine the arguments and unhappiness of two warriors trying to be together? You would not wish that on me? I would not compare you to your cousin, nor swap you for him any day. I wish him home safe – because he is dear to you, and good company. But, like me, if he is wise, he will look for one far more gentle to love,” then she sighed, “why must everything come back to your cousin with you?”

“It need not,” I stuttered, “I – I – thought that – it does not matter. He can look after himself. I – I have loved you for – it seems so long – I – will you – do you?” all my words deserted me, and in none of the languages I speak could I find a way to ask, but she understood, and we stood clasped together, I know not how long. And I was happier than I ever thought to be.

No wonder that I forget where I was hurrying to, for I never got there. We seized our chance, we had our time together, and I was glad that neither of us had ever enjoyed the easy company in Dale, that this was new to both of us. And when we parted, we had changed our braids, and both agreed to speak of this to our parents – separately and then together as is the custom.

I remember the astonishment of my parents, of my brother – not perhaps very flattering, but I understood. I was astonished, why would they not be? My Father – I think I had never before pleased him so. 

That night, though our grief for Froin was not forgot, we all found some hope for the future. 

But that night – the armies outside attacked again. I was not on watch, not on duty, but my Father was – as ever – so I knew there was fighting once more. I heard him return in the early morning, and as I was awake, I rose to find him food, drink, hot water. But when I went to our kitchen, to build up the fire, he was there. Sat there, with his head in his hands, and for a moment I feared for my brother Kroin, for so our Father had sat when Froin had been killed. 

Then he looked at me, and in his eyes I read not only anguish, but pity – and I was afraid. I was afraid of his words as I had never feared before, cold as I had never been cold. I could not ask. I did not want to hear. If he did not say it, if he did not speak, it might not be true. It was too much like a story, too much like some tragic myth, it could not be happening to me. The joy of the afternoon, telling my parents, changing my braids – and now this. I hoped, how I hoped, for some wound, some injury – I cared not how she was scarred, disfigured, I – I admit I cared not if she was in pain – if only she would live. 

But as I stood there, he still did not speak.

And now, now I hoped only that she might yet be living, that if I ran I could be with her, could hold her these last moments.

But still he did not speak, did not urge me to hurry. He just looked.

And as my world fell apart, I thought perhaps I could still see her one more time, could still give her burial, could give her the beads, forged for my One so long ago in hope, to take with her to the Halls of Waiting.

But he still did not speak. He shook his head.

And finally he spoke. He spoke the words that none should ever have to hear;

“She is gone. They had – they had –,” and I dreaded to hear what could make my strong Father fail in his speech, “they had some devilry. Something more than fire. There is nothing.”

And something inside me died.

 

The rest of the siege – I do not remember. I do not know, I have no memory of the sorties, the defence, the preparation for the end which seemed sure to come. I have been told I fought, no better and no worse than at any other time – I am not the stuff of which heroes are made, I did not become a vengeful warrior, did not wipe out my loss in blood. I fought as I had long been trained to do – and my Father found no rebukes for me, so I suppose I fought well. In between battles, I must have slept, eaten, washed, spoken with people – I believe I spoke with her parents even, was acknowledged as One with rights to grieve. But I remember it not. I must have carried out my other duties, for there are no missing spaces in the records, no errors in the tallies. But I remember it not.

Were I a different sort of person – perhaps I would have found death in one of those battles. Were I an elf, I suppose I would have faded. But I am no hero, I am no elf. I am a dwarf. I survived. I continued. There was work to do, and a dwarf can live without love if there be work to give his life purpose.

 

I do not even remember the ending of the siege. The day when we saw all the army fleeing – as though at some unheard signal – and many of our warriors took the opportunity to rid the world of more of their evil number.

I do not remember the great news of victory, of the quest that had succeeded. I know that when the dark passed, there was much to do under the mountain. Much to prepare for the coronation of Thorin Stonehelm, and the laying to rest in honour of Dain. Much change in our dealings with the men of Dale and Laketown after our many battles together. Much work to be done choosing and equipping ambassadors to go to the coronation of the new King of Gondor. I know that I must have done much of this preparation, much of the searching out of old records to find what was proper, much of the calculation of cost – for even at such a time, dwarves are prudent and will not spend more than is wise. I must have been involved with negotiations, with new contracts and treaties with our close neighbours – but I do not remember any of it.

I do remember Thorin saying that new negotiations with Mirkwood could wait – “for if your cousin has spent all these months in company with their prince, either he will have built up goodwill, or there will be compensation demanded – and I would not have hours of hard work lost because we do not know whether, in the pinch, your cousin is like to you or to your Father,” and he smiled ruefully at me.

“Like neither, I think,” I answered, “Gimli is bolder and more impulsive than I, yet less set in his ways than Father,” and I remembered that old, old story; “he has been overly-fair-spoken to elves before now. It will depend on whether he thinks this prince a good fighter, nothing else.” 

“From all accounts, he has acquitted himself well before. We shall wait to hear what our ambassadors say when they return – and let us hope your cousin has not ruffled this pointy-eared princeling’s hair once too often.”

Funny how things turn out.

 

I do remember the return of our ambassadors – they had travelled with those of the new King Bard of Dale, for ease and safety on both sides. The official coronation had taken place, we learned, in early May, yet the celebration that they had so many tales of, the wedding at midsummer, was seen by many as more important – which explained the long delay between their hasty setting out and their return. Not that anyone grudged them the time – it was still a long and arduous journey so soon after so much fighting, and besides, I think most were pleased to hear their accounts, and to know that we had proper representation at such great events.

Being, as I said, the cohort considered both in our prime and yet fully trained, most of those sent were well-known to me, and so much extra news came to those of us who had stayed behind which was perhaps slower to spread among those who were either older or younger. The wealth of such a city, and yet the grievous state of so much of the building, belying the grand and beautiful designs. The jewels, the craft of many races all to make great the celebration of peace. The great horses and companies of riders. The many races of men there were in such a world – for we knew well only those of Dale and Esgaroth. The fair words of such great people and the promises of trade and alliance. The remaking of Gandalf – now no longer the old grey wanderer we remembered, but a shining white power. The elves who were different to those of Thranduil – more solemn, more wise, yet more remote. The renown my cousin had won for himself – and, I am afraid, the way in which he shamelessly traded on it, in very much the way he had always done on those trading trips to Dale. 

And – whispered, for we thought our elders would not like to hear – his friendship with an elf, his naming as ‘Elf-friend’. But, we said, in times of war, of strife, trust and love for one’s shield-brother may well replace old enmity, and we knew that he had been alone among these strangers for long – there had been no other dwarves, and perhaps an elf who was from a wood so close to home had come to seem more familiar than any man from far-away could ever be.

We did not repeat those stories and thoughts to our fathers though – nor to his. Let him decide what to tell and what to hold back, we thought. Friendship forged in time of war is oft forgot in time of peace – let us not sully his return home.

 

His return – his return which seemed long delayed. Why had he not come back with our ambassadors? Did he not wish for company on that long road?

They said, as he had told them, that he wished not to be the first of his Fellowship to leave, that he would stay with the hobbits until all parted. And, truly, those months were so busy, with all the work to be done and the many celebrations that I think few missed him. I did – for among the celebrations were many weddings, many couples who had waited until the worst was over, like my friend-and-not-quite-brother Blor, and also many who would in most times have been thought too young – but who no longer felt young, like my brother Kroin. At both of those, I missed my cousin. Missed his gruff, clumsy sympathy which I knew would have been there for me, supporting me like an arm about the shoulder, buying me more ale than I could handle, but never leaving my side. For although I was expecting those days to be bad – they were worse than I could have imagined, filled with too many who wished me nothing but kindness, yet could not see the kindest thing to do would be to look away, and not speak. 

I wished I had my cousin at my side. Happy as I was for my brother and my friend – it left me feeling very alone, and I wished for my cousin. Even as I told myself that he was better enjoying himself where he was, better not knowing the names of all the dead, better not grieving until he returned. For although the ambassadors had taken him a letter from his parents, although he had asked for news of us – they said he had asked by name only of his parents and myself – which surprised me – and so they had given him only good news, thinking the deaths best not mentioned at such a time. 

 

And the months passed, and still he did not return. The ambassadors said he had planned to leave the procession of the King Elessar at Isengard – which they would surely have reached during the summer – late August it turns out – yet – the days dragged on into late September, October drew near – and my cousin did not come.

 

And my Father began to say in the evenings that he could not understand it. That it was not like my cousin to be so undutiful. To be so long returning, to leave his parents waiting like this. And I found myself trying to defend him – but it was hard when I had no idea what could be keeping him. And all I seemed to achieve was praise for being a loyal cousin and a good son to stay at home, which I felt I hardly deserved, not having ever been given any choice.

 

But – just as we were beginning to wonder, Blor and I, if something had happened to my cousin, he came home.

 

It was evening. We had heard that a figure had been seen on the road, we had had messages from my uncle that my cousin was home but – very tired. We thought that was all we would hear until next day as we sat, just three of us now, by the fire, in our usual silence, waiting for the time to pass – that was all we did now, waited. Waited for bed. Waited for the next day. Waited for my cousin’s return. Waited for the news of my brother’s child that we all hoped would come soon. Waited for Mahal to call us to him. Waiting was all that was left to we three, my parents and I.

But, unexpectedly, there was a knock at the door. We all looked at each other – none of us eager, none of us could think of good news it could be. Father – anticipating some new attack, some nest of orcs found. Mother – always concern only for us – and I was there – concern for Kroin – an accident, a sudden illness? Myself – I could think of nothing anyone would want me for at this time of day, good or ill – and that seemed the worst loneliness of all.

“That’ll be the door,” Father looked at me – reminding me I was still his son, still the one to get up and answer. That it was not my hearth I sat by – and never would be now.

I went. I opened the door. And there was my cousin. He didn’t speak, he just opened his arms, and as I went into them, I knew that my uncle had told him of my loss, and I knew that here was someone who understood how things were for me. After that first embrace he held me at arms length, and looked at me,

“I’ll not be staying now. I’m bloody knackered,” he said, “but – Droin, I had to come. No-one told me til now. I – I’d’ve written if I’d known.” He paused, “Fuck knows what I’d’ve said though.” He leant forward, rested his head against mine a moment, as we had seen our fathers do so often, “tomorrow? I – I should thank your father – his lessons kept me alive. Kept a lot of friends alive. And I should tell him my orc-count.”

I smiled, same Gimli, “Tomorrow,” I said. “We’ll be here.” Nowhere else to go, I thought.

 

But of course, I saw my cousin again before the evening. Of course, the first thing he had to do that next day was sit with our new king and tell his tale. Tell all that had happened. And, as one of Thorin’s record keepers, as the one who had done most of the preparation of treaties with other lands, I was one of those present.

Doubtless all know the history of the War of the Ring, of the Fellowship, of the Quest. Of my cousin’s valiant part. So there is little point in my repeating all that story.

But – what our king was most interested in, were the impressions my cousin had of the different races, the possibilities for the future, for trade. Much they talked of Minas Tirith, of the new king of Gondor – would there indeed be new gates for that city to be built – and what kind of design, what kind of price would be right? Would other craft be needed there – stonemasons, perhaps even jewellers – what of the satellite kingdoms, of Lebennin, of Fornost – could we expect trade there?

The Rohirrim – if my cousin was indeed serious about this new colony of his – how many would he wish to take, what plans did he have – would this be a separate state, a part of Rohan – or did he wish for Thorin to hold suzerainty with all the protections and obligations that come from that? I think that day, we merely covered options and my cousin agreed to think – and I saw in his face that he had no expectation of this when he began his plan. And I thought, ‘oh cousin, you are a valiant warrior – but you have no knowledge of politics, no skill at these words. Will you come to me for help, now Brorild is not here to guide you?’ for it seemed to me that he needed someone, someone trained in the ways of courts and kings to help him.

Then Thorin asked him about the elves he had met. Was it really true that lord Elrond would soon be leaving for the West – and if so, who would rule in Rivendell? My cousin answered as best he could – but he did not know. He told us more of the Golden Wood – and those of us who knew him were not overly surprised to hear him so eloquent in praise of the beauty of the Lady. Thorin then came to the most important of all his questions;

“What of the Mirkwood elves? Truly, Gimli, we must know – you spent much time with one of their princes – we heard you were – not unfriendly? Is this true? Have you, do you think, made an alliance there? Was there only this one of their people with you – or were there others at the court of Elessar?”

For a moment, my cousin seemed lost for words, seemed to be thinking, remembering something. I could see Thorin tense – the Woodland Realm could be a good friend or a bad enemy, and he needed to know.

“Tell me. How did you leave this prince? I must know – your cousin and others had us a good treaty with those elves in time of war – I need to know what kind of terms to hope for now we are at peace. I would have lower toll on the Forest Road, I would have more trade with these elves, for they have timber which we always need and, I think, their king has a great love for the luxuries we can craft. But I must know – even if you came to blows – I must know. I have delayed long in sending out to this neighbour since the end of war – I must know.”

For a while longer there was silence, and I began to dread what foolish thing my cousin had said in his anger – or in jest – to this elf, for I knew, as perhaps my king did not, that this elf was the one who had captured our fathers, so long ago, the one whose words to my uncle had been so insulting and so long remembered. I knew that my uncle – and hence my cousin – had recognised him, and been unsure how Gandalf could hope for them to work together.

Then my cousin lifted his head, and met our King’s eye,

“I left him well. Indeed we travelled together to the borders of his land, where he turned and rode one way, while I walked home. I left him well. We parted friends.” He paused, and I wondered what his father would make of that statement, then, “But, truly my King, I do not know if that will help you in your agreements with his father. I – I think he is not the most favoured prince, not the heir. I do not know – we never spoke of his family. But – I would think better relations may be possible – certainly I do not think anything that happened between he and I would prevent them.”

Thorin nodded, pleased.

“Then perhaps it would be wise if you were to form part of our delegation to them when we renegotiate the treaty?”

“No.” My cousin was firm, one does not say he shouted for none shouts at a king but – he was firm. “No, my lord King, do not ask me to go to that wood. I – I cannot. Send another. Send one who has been before.”

Thorin appeared to agree, and the talk moved for a while onto other lands my cousin had heard tell of, and whether we should be thinking of trading further abroad now that peace had come.

 

That evening my cousin came, as promised, to see my Father – and indeed they had much to say, many battles to discuss, many technical details of axe blows to compare. It was kind of my cousin, I thought, for it cannot have been how he wanted to spend his first full evening – yet – he did not seem in as much of a hurry to go drinking as I would have expected. Still, their conversation came to an end, and as he and I rose, ready to be off, my Father said, 

“Aye, you’ve done well – made us all proud. Your Father is proud of you – and Thorin Oakenshield would be – but for one thing – what is all this talk of elves? What is all this of pretty lady elves – of being named elf-friend? And what is all this of Thranduil’s son? You do know who that bastard pointy-ear is, don’t you?”

“Yes, Dwalin,” and my cousin left off the honorific he had been so careful to use all evening, “Yes, I know who Legolas is. He is the elf that saved my life, many times. And I his. He is my friend.” And he slammed out of the door, as though he were a young dwarf, as though he had not come of age, did not know better – and, as I always had done, I shrugged at my Father, and followed him. But now, now he was not some tempestuous youngster, now he was full grown, a dangerous fighter, and when he turned to me and said,

“And don’t you fucking start, Droin. I have had enough of it from my Father, from your Father – from every sodding dwarf over the age of a hundred it feels like. I know what the stupid bastard said and did to our fathers, to all of them – to Thorin – and if ever there was a dwarf asking to be locked up it was him. But in the last however many bloody months, he was my friend.” When he spoke like this, I could see he meant every word.

“I wasn’t going to say anything.” I said. “We – we had heard. I daresay you had your reasons. I – I went to Mirkwood, to their Halls. I negotiated the treaty. I and – and others,” I found I could not say her name, “I met his father, met King Thranduil. He is a great king, very clever, very logical. Very – cold. Not someone I can imagine Thorin Oakenshield understanding at all – but – a good king. Much loved by his people. Respected. Feared. Obeyed.”

He laughed, “not much like his daft sodding son then. Enough of bloody elves, Droin, I want to drink.”

And drink we did. 

And soon enough, we had friends round us – for everyone wanted to hear his tales, that night and every night. So many tales – of travel, of distant lands, of wonder and beauty, of war and death. So many plans – for gates for a city of men, for his new lands. Every night there seemed more to discuss.

“Gimli,” Blor said one evening, “you will have to find yourself a princess,” for it was becoming clear that he had no idea of the answers to all the questions of detail that our King had asked him, “you will have to marry into royalty, to have someone to deal with all this protocol for you. Someone who understands it all.”

“Aye,” someone else said, “Gimli – we know you – do not tell us you did not have your eye on some pretty girl or lad – one who could be useful in and out of bed?”

He shook his head, “No. I was a bit busy. I was fighting,” we all exchanged glances, thinking that never stopped you before, but let it go, “and I don’t want to marry. I shall take my cousin with me – he knows how these things are done, he has drawn up treaties and met with royalty enough. No weddings for us, eh Droin? No weddings, no dwarrowlings – but plenty of ale.” And we all laughed, and drank to that. What else could I do? What else can any of us do, but walk the road there is in front of us, and pretend it is the one we would choose?

Besides, much of the time I was caught up in it all. I longed to follow him at last, to go with him to these far off places, to see these wonders. And – at last I was not too young. At last there was peace enough, that those who were not warriors could travel. I could go. I was even to be an unofficial deputy – my cousin said he would be glad of all my experience in making treaties with other races. He said that at the moment he had only a given word for his caves – and he would have it written for all to see, lest the trust between men and dwarves fade once more. He said that all my time in records, in tallying for Dain and for Thorin would be a great advantage in this new work. He praised me, and I felt valued – felt that he wanted me, perhaps not just for my skills, but for the many years we had been in step, from the Blue Mountains to Erebor, for friendship long-enduring. For once, my Father was proud – could see that though not a great warrior, I am good at organising, at planning, at seeing a great design through.

Perhaps my Father thought it would be good for me to go, to leave the Mountain which now seemed full to me of empty dreams, of vanished hopes. He can be surprisingly understanding at times – and he is no stranger to loss in battle.

In the way of dwarves, I don’t think we talked much about the people Gimli had met. Not in detail. Not as – as characters. I remember being interested to hear about hobbits – as were all of us who had been brought up on stories of Bilbo’s deeds. And of course, to have had one of our own at the crowning of the new King of Gondor – and for him to be able to tell us of Aragorn the ranger before he was Elessar the King – well, that was exciting. I don’t remember ever being that interested in the others he had met. 

Elves – we all thought we knew about elves. Thought we had heard enough – thought it best not to ask more.

I do remember the night I noticed Gimli had changed his braids. It was not long before we were going to leave the mountain, heading first to Minas Tirith to make those gates, and then, the plan was, to go on to Aglarond, to begin our lives’ work on this colony. A normal sort of evening, many of us drinking together, the usual talk of plans, of gossip, and when he came in, I think we all noticed. But – none of us knew him well enough to dare ask, or speculate – or even tease. Had it been another of us, I am sure there would have been plenty of talk, but with Gimli – you didn’t.

Had he seemed happy, proud, perhaps we would have. But he didn’t. He seemed – dour. Depressed almost. I remember looking to make sure I had not read his braids wrong. But – they were lover’s braids. They spoke clearly that he had found his One. 

And for him to be so quiet – all was not well. I wondered if he had asked someone to come with us and she had said no. But – it seemed hard to believe that any would have rejected one who was so much the hero of the time. Perhaps, I thought, for I remembered his ways, perhaps this One was not a dwarf? Or was one who cared not for males? I ran through in my head who it could be, but I could think of none whom he had spent enough time with to be thinking of. 

And that night, and after, I kept going over our conversations, the stories he told, to try and think who it could be. I don’t know why – what I thought I could do. I just – Gimli is my friend, my cousin, I was proud of him, I wondered I suppose if it could be a misunderstanding, if there was anything that could be done. I suppose part of me wanted to see a happy ending for him, where there could not be one for me.

But – there was no name that came to me. Now, looking back, I wonder how I could be so blind. How could we all have been? How did none of us see it? But – he is a clever one – I think he hid it from all of us. None of us could have imagined – and he did not want us to know.

One night, I remember I must have drunk more than usual, and he was helping me back to my parents’ house – for though he had doubtless matched me ale for ale he ever had the clearer head and steadier feet – when I found that the drink had loosened my tongue enough for me to ask, to reveal the secret fear that haunted me.

“Your braids,” and I may even have, in my drunkenness, touched them – something that only pity could prevent my cousin resenting, “who – who do you wear them for – why is there no joy in you – not – not – they are not mourning braids – not Brorild – Brorild did love me – she would not have turned to you – she wanted me – it was agreed –,“ and I floundered into incoherence. I remember he looked at me, and the grief in his eyes was plain, his arm round my shoulder gentle as he said;

“Indeed she did – she ever did, Droin you fool of a dwarf. She and I were only ever friends – the secrets we had were of axe-use – and I had thought to push you to her when I came home, for I feared you would never get there otherwise,” he paused, and perhaps he needed to say it, to practice the words, and I was drunk enough, he thought, not to count as a hearer. “My braids – I am as much a fool as you, cousin. More. For when my love spoke to me I never heard what he said until it was too late, and though he is not dead, there will be no second chance for me,” he sighed, and realising that I was listening, continued, “so it is as well I have work that will need both of us, and many more, for at least our lifetimes will be busy. No more of this Droin, we are dwarves, not men or hobbits – or elves – we do not weep and sing for love lost, love hopeless – we work. And turn our hearts to stone if we must,” and he sighed again, and we stumbled home.

 

It was not long after that we set out for Minas Tirith, for we were to make those city gates before we continued on to Aglarond, to our Glittering Caves. That was the first time I had travelled so far since I came of age, the first time since that long dismal journey from the Blue Mountains, that journey when we knew we should be so joyful – a home reclaimed, our Fathers well – but the shock of our cousins’ deaths always with us. It was the first time any of us but my cousin had travelled so since then – but we are not fools, we can read maps, we had listened to his tales and it seemed strange to us that he insisted we travel south from Esgaroth, around that eastern border of Mirkwood, and then crossing the Brown Lands plan to pass the very gates of Mordor. From where he said it would be a simple journey through Ithilien and so to Minas Tirith. I remember we put forward our objections;

“Why can we not use the Forest Road, cross Anduin in the land of the Beornings and seeing the Dimrill Dale, the gates of Khazad-dum, pass through the edges of your Golden Wood and the lands of Rohan?” we said, for it seemed to us that the hard-won peace with the elves of Thranduil should not be forgotten or allowed to lapse – and we preferred the longer route which kept us further from the Black Land, I admit. Myself, I knew not which way I desired to go – I did not know whether the pain of remembrance of journeys past would be lesser or greater than the pleasure of seeing again the places I had been with my love. Not that it mattered – my cousin has never been one to be swayed by others.

“I will not pass through Mirkwood again,” he said, and that was an end. There was no discussion possible. I wondered why he felt so strongly – what had happened – the rest of the delegation had come back that way from Rivendell, why was he so determined not to see that forest? But – looking at the map, he had a point, his was the shorter route, “besides,” I said, thinking to support his choice, “you said that there was to be a rebuilding of Ithilien – doubtless the men of Gondor – and was it wood-elves? – there will perhaps be those among them that you would greet?”

And I knew I had said something wrong, for his face turned stern and cold, as he answered, “that work will be barely begun. The men will be there, but no elves – they will not hurry themselves, months are nothing to their long lives, and this is hardly planting season,” and under his breath I thought he added, “and all the more reason for haste, I will not meet on the road, as if by contrived chance.” 

So, as ever, we did as my cousin bid. And though it was less of a journey, there were sights enough. Indeed, I suspect the longer route would not perhaps have been to any of our liking had we tried it. There may also have been wisdom in his wish to visit the King of Rohan in his halls of Edoras before arriving at the Glittering Caves. For had we gone directly to the caves, I cannot say none of our people would have been tempted to start work before the formal agreement was signed. 

And, knowing my strategically minded cousin, it would not hurt to have, at the least, begun work for the King of Gondor before approaching Rohan.

 

When we arrived – we found the reports we had heard had fallen far short of the grandeur that was Gondor. Of the work needed, also. And of the grief that was mixed with the joy – perhaps those ambassadors of ours had not seen it, perhaps the joy of the end of war had covered over the many tears, the many missing. Perhaps they had not deemed it wise to dwell on such things, to an audience that knew them too well, and wished only to hear that all our sacrifice had been not in vain.

But I wondered how my cousin had missed this. 

I thought perhaps he had also been tired, perhaps he too had wished only to see joy after all his toil. I wondered though, did he look, or was he – distracted?

 

When he welcomed us, we thought the King Elessar very great, very grand – but when he came among us, as we began to prepare our plans, began to compare our sketches with our site, began all the hours of thought required, we found that he was not grand, he was a worker, and he understood the painstaking preparation that is needed if any design may come to completion. I suppose, indeed, he understood it all too well, from what one hears of his life.

We thought the Queen very lovely, very kind and sweetly-spoken – even to dwarves. And I admit we were surprised – we had heard she was an elf by birth, and we did not expect such welcome. But when one of us said such a thing, my cousin was angry – angry as I had not seen him for so long;

“Fool, you speak of what you do not know. Elves are the most sweet-spoken of all races – and before you say it, many of them mean what they say. As many as of any race, I deem.”

Then another, seeking to wipe out the recollection of his brother’s error, said;

“And to see two so in love. An elf with a mortal – who knew it could be so?”

“Aye,” my cousin answered, “who knew?” – but I saw his face as he turned away, and I wondered what grief he hid.

 

And through all the days of work, I wondered, until there was a day when I had chance to speak to the King – Aragorn as we now had learnt to call him when he came down to see our work. It was a day when the work on the walls and gates was well-underway, and I had been asked to begin work on the draft agreement for the King of Rohan – for ever my cousin seemed to wish to hasten, to be away from this city, to reach his caves – and, I suspected, find his life’s work within them, hidden away from the world. And I wondered who or what had done this to him.

But, this day, I was working alone in one of the many scribe’s rooms of the palace, one which had been loaned to us for our stay, when the King entered. I was surprised, I had not looked to see him, and from many years of dealing with Dain and Thorin, I would have expected more announcement of his presence – but they were both dwarf-kings, born to rule, and used to ceremony. He was holding a letter, I remember, and he waved it at me as he spoke;

“Sorry I am to disturb you at your labours, Droin, son of Dwalin, but I have had news regarding which I must speak to you,” he paused, and had he not been a king, I think he would have looked discomfited, “this room – I had thought to have another free by the time it was needed, but I find the records have become so disordered that I cannot.”

I was puzzled, “Lord King, it is your room, as are all in this palace – it is yours to decide who may use it. I am a dwarf – I am used to working in any place I must – I can keep my records, write my drafts, count my tallies in my chambers, if your scribes need this room again,” though I would have been sad to give up that quiet space, I admit.

He half-laughed, “Indeed, Droin, you are a most helpful dwarf, and I do not doubt your words – but I think it would not be politic were I to ask you to move, to free this room for the record-keeper of the party who now comes to help my kingdom recover from these long years of war,” and as I looked my question, he continued- “They are elves. From the realm of Thranduil.”

And I could only agree, “For myself, I can believe that they would need this room more than I – I have seen their halls, and they are spacious, yet – not organised, not kept as dwarves would, with each thing in its exact own place. But – I think if others of my party perceived that I had lost my study to an elf – it would reignite all the old distrust which you do not wish your kingdom to witness,” I thought, and then I said, “but it is only I who use this room – and I can make shift to share – if they would also be willing? If my cousin can share a horse with an elf for so many miles, surely I can share a desk, or at least a room?” and I smiled, and he smiled also, with, I thought, a fond remembrance of times past. 

And that gave me the courage to ask;

“Lord, know you what troubles my cousin so?”and when he frowned, questioning, I continued, “since his return, he at times seems full of a secret grief, he has changed his braids – I think he may have – is it possible that he met someone? While he was in your company?”

He thought, obviously surprised at my question, and then answered slowly,

“All know of his loudly proclaimed love for the Lady of Lorien – but I think that is not what you mean?”

“No,” I said, “my cousin is not one to be so obvious. Besides, I – I wondered if there was – “I hesitated, for I did not know the ways of Gondor, then I thought of what the ambassadors had told us, “a man?”

He did not seem shocked, and I knew those ambassadors had spoken truthfully of Gimli’s ways.

“If there is one, it would be one of the Rohirrim – he spent much time with them, and – “he paused, trying to find a way to say this “– such things are not against their customs, as they are in Gondor. In fact – Droin – this is not something I would speak of in this city if I were you – the love of warrior for warrior is not admired here. Perhaps when you are in Aglarond, or Edoras – Eomer may know a name – but I would advise you to leave well alone. Your cousin would be better to think to the future and take a wife to bear children to rule his caves after his death.” 

He turned away, and I understood that the customs of men, of Gondor were very different to ours – no dwarf could forget a love, no dwarf could marry for heirs only. As he moved to the door, he spoke again,

“I thank you for your offer of compromise, and will ensure the elves understand that just as you are the only dwarf to use this room, they had best chose one to be their record keeper, and I hope you can work together for the good of all,” and I thought that the formal words of the king were all I would hear – but he added, hand on door-frame, “understand, I wish your cousin happiness, but as King of Gondor I must support the customs of my realm.”

I understand, I thought. Oh yes, I understand. My cousin was good enough to fight for you, is good enough to work for you, and you will reward him – as a dwarf. With payment. But you will not let yourself risk even a hint of scandal to help him to his One, despite what he risked to help you to your wife, however much you care for him, however much you owe him.

And I was bitter against this man.

For the first time for a long while, I remembered Thorin Oakenshield and his implacable belief that all other races undervalue dwarves – and it seemed to me that maybe he was not as wrong as I had always hoped.

 

From the day of the letter, to the day of the elves coming was not long – a matter of weeks I think. It is hard to be precise, so long ago as it is now.

But I remember that day. We had been told they were like to arrive soon, and my cousin had suggested that as one of the few of our party who had met elves, visited Mirkwood, it would be perhaps helpful if I were around, “Do not go hiding yourself in your records,” he said, “I may need another who will not take offence at every elven look, every elven word,” and we smiled at each other, knowing some of our companions were well-described.

So, I was out, working with all our party on the gates, when the troop was seen. Seen? Heard as well – that was the first time I had heard such singing – for when I had visited their Halls, it had not been a time of singing and laughter. We watched them arrive, and as they swept up to the gates, in a burst of joyful sound and brightly gleaming auburn hair, we heard the people of the city calling to each other to come and see,

“Come and see the elves – the elves have come to help us – all will go faster and better now they are come – are they not beautiful?”

And we exchanged glances, and we knew that we were labourers once again – and if the elves chose to work for no reward as such odd creatures often do, we would be labelled greedy, as well as dull, ugly, short, plodding. And resentment would build, and old hatreds simmer in the new kingdom – but in truth it would be not the fault of either dwarves or elves.

Lightly the elves leapt from their horses, and with a word, told them to go with those whose business it was to find them stabling – for in their fashion, these creatures had neither rein nor saddle. 

As the King approached, it seemed clear who was the leader – one there was, tall, even for an elf, with flaming hair, and princely bearing. Confident, he seemed, and his eyes swept over us all, recording and marking well what he saw. This must be the one we have heard of, I thought, this must be he with whom my cousin shared such hardships, such danger. I could well believe all the stories, which until now had seemed friendly exaggerations, the killing of an oliphaunt, the days of running, the accurate shooting, the grace and deadliness in battle.

But – he stepped back, and another came forward to greet the King. A very different elf. Pale, he was, even in comparison to the rest – washed out almost. Faded. Yet – when I looked at his face, his eyes from which the blue seemed to have drained, the pale gold hair hanging below his shoulders, the way he held himself aloof and cold – I knew he was the son of Thranduil. And I wondered what great hurt he had taken in battle – and why my cousin had not told us.

That thought made me look to my cousin, and I saw his face as he looked at the elves – at this elf. Before he could master his expression, before he resumed his usual sternness, I saw his eyes. And with a jolt as of a misplaced chisel, I knew that this prince was he who my cousin’s braids were for.

But when the King waved my cousin forward, saying, “Legolas, we are delaying the reunion of old friends – have you not seen who is here?”, I saw for an instant the colour return to the elf’s face – and then as he approached it drained, and I have never heard such a cold distant greeting between warriors who have fought together. Oh cousin, I thought, and you called me a fool. What have you done to this elf – what have you done to yourself?

Almost as shocking, was the discovery that he who I had taken for the leader, was but a deputy – was the one I was to share a study with for the coming months.

“I would be grateful if tomorrow, you could see your way to explaining everything you have learnt of how to deal with these – Men,” he said to me, “I have dealt much with those of Esgaroth, and a little in Dale in my time – but these I think are a different breed of man.”

“Indeed they are,” I said, and our eyes met, “they have a great belief in royalty at the moment – you may find it easier to have your prince do much of any requisitioning you need.”

“Ah,” he said, and I was honoured by his confidence when he leant to me as we walked from the study to the great hall, “then I may have a problem, for my prince is – not well.”

“In that case, I would recommend that you arrange for one of you to be ennobled,” I smiled ruefully, “as has my cousin Gimli been so recently. – You, yourself perhaps?”

He touched his hair, “Any who know, can see I am no Sindarin noble.”

“Aye,” I answered meaningfully, thinking, I nearly missed it, I have met your King yet I thought you his son, “any who know. Think on it – but think and get agreement from your followers fast, master elf.” And I saw something in his eye change at the words ‘your followers’, and I wondered if until then he had not realised who these elves followed, if he had thought them all as loyal only to his prince as he.

 

 

Indeed, he was a fast worker, that elf, for by the time of the evening feast, he had indeed become an elven lord, an aristocrat of the Woodland Realm. Which I thought boded well, both for our ease in sharing that scribe’s room, and for the ability of these elves to achieve that which they were here to do – for indeed their prince seemed scarcely there. 

And my cousin – I could have shaken him. He was at his gruffest, most silent all that evening, and all I could think was – he had called me fool.

After the feast was finished, there was of course, music and dancing – such as there had not been on any other evening, but now the elves had come. We dwarrows exchanged looks when this was announced, but – such is the way of the world, and we were not in our hearts surprised. And very pleasant it was too, if you like that sort of thing.

But I found it very useful. For, I thought, my cousin may have called me fool, but he also said he would have pushed me to my Brorild had I needed it – and though I had not, I would do the like for him. So while the music played, the elves sang, some even danced – though not the new lord, busy making sure he knew the names, professions, ranks and where to find all those he might need, or the prince, lost, just lost as he was – while the music played and many people took advantage of it for more private conversations, I went to the King.

“Your majesty,” I said, “it seems to me that my cousin and his shield-brother are not able to talk freely in this company. It would, I think, please them both were you to command your servants to house this prince in the chamber next my cousin that they might share the - balcony,” and I looked him blandly in the eye.

“You think this, do you Droin, son of Dwalin?” the King answered – and I saw him look at his two one-time-companions, “you may be right. But that room – was that not left empty in acknowledgement of Gimli’s status as Lord of Aglarond – will his pride not resent such meddling?”

“Only if I am wrong, and then I will bear the blame,” I said.

“You will indeed, should there be any,” and I saw he knew exactly what we spoke of, and when he said, “I shall do as you request,” I saw that he was as locked in to tradition as any of us, but he did still value my cousin, and wish to repay all his toil.

 

And when, lying alone that night, I heard first arguing, and then – then decidedly not arguing from my cousin’s room, I knew that I had been right, and there would be no blame from him.

 

That next morning, I had breakfasted, and was in my – our – study, when the flame-haired elf found me. 

“My people are in no hurry to start work,” he said, “it has seemed a long road – and the leaving of our forest the hardest part, for we were bid all speed somewhat too enthusiastically by our king,” he twitched his nose, in what I would come to know was the nearest an elf will come to an eye-roll of impatience, and I thought, yes I can imagine Thranduil not being too sorry to see the back of you, now there is no war, “I come to ask you to keep your promise to tell me of this land.”

And I did. And in the telling, we found we had many things in common – we knew many of the same traders in Esgaroth and Dale, we had a similar love of order and competence, neither of us had travelled as much as we would have wished – indeed he even envied my visit to the Beornings – and we both suspected we would be doing much of the work for our new colonies.

“I think, master dwarf,” he said at some stage that morning, “I shall have many questions to ask you of how dwarves govern themselves. For I think you will have no king in these caves – yet Thorin is many miles from here?”

And I wondered, even as I carefully replied, “no king, but we shall have a lord in my cousin. And do you not have a prince?”

“For the moment,” he answered, and there was sadness in his gaze.

I remember this exchange, not only for the long-distant outcome, but because at that moment, as chance would have it, one of his elves came bursting in.

“Caradhil,” he cried, and I could see he was in some distress, “we have not seen our prince this morning, and none know where that chamberlain led him last night.”

“Well, ask a servant,” he whom I now knew to be Caradhil replied impatiently, “but our prince – our Legolas – is tired. Let him sleep.”

The other shook his head, “You do not understand. We have asked and none knew. We have searched all the gardens and stables – and asked and asked but none has seen him this day.”

Then indeed Caradhil was alarmed and turned to me, “Someone must know – my prince is not fully well – he – where will he be?”

The other looked at me, and I saw his face change, “You have been kept talking by this Naug – and our prince is lost – I do not like this.”

And though I hated the word, I hated the suspicion more – but I found I was not the only one.

“Peace, fool, I sought him out – I have been asking all the questions,” he dismissed the old lies so easily, I could have liked him just for that, “but indeed – Droin, you have been here longer than us – do you know where he might be?”

I thought. I wondered what the reaction of these elves would be if I said truly, yes, I know exactly where your prince is, he is in my cousin’s bed, and has been all this night – and though he is certainly not the first, I think he may be the One to stay all the years of his life.

But instead, I said only, “I think the King spoke of housing him in the room next my cousin. I can show you where that is,” thinking, and when he does not answer his door – what will I do then?

“If you would – I would think it a great favour – leave this to me now, Maegsigil, I will sort this out,” and I found myself leading Caradhil towards Gimli’s room. As we went I thought furiously, for I did not know what this Caradhil would do when his prince was not in his room. I did not know the customs of the elves, whether they would be like to ours, or whether there would be the same unease as the King had shown. Approaching the doors, it seemed to me I had the solution.

“As I am here, I will speak to my cousin,” I said, “for he has not been much in evidence this morning either – I would guess these shield-brothers may well have stayed talking late into the night,” and I thought I saw the glimmer of understanding on my new ally’s face as he answered,

“Of course – nothing more likely. I think in our care for Legolas we had forgotten,” he paused, “but he is a hard one to read – or has been these last months. Much changed by this quest.”

Yes, I thought, and perhaps more than you know. I showed him which was his prince’s door, and as he went to it, I knocked on my cousin’s. 

But – there was no swearing, no slow and grumpy tread to open it. My cousin did not open it.

An elf opened it. I say, an elf, I should say, a completely naked elf – and if I had not seen it, I would never have believed an elf’s hair could be so disordered.

An elf. An elf I could hardly believe was the same elf I had seen the day before. Now, no-one would doubt he was a prince, for authority and confidence were radiating from him. The disdain for all outside that room was plain enough that no-one would doubt he was the son of the Thranduil I had met – but that he was clearly the happiest creature alive. It seemed that even his hair was more golden, his eyes bluer, his skin a more normal elf-pale, the quiet song that elves so often give out without thinking was no longer sad and forlorn but the merriest, most joyous tune I have ever heard.

I dared not look to see Caradhil’s face.

“I came to find Gimli,” I said, “the work on the gates will need him later today.”

“No,” this new regal elf replied “your Lord is not coming now. Or later. Go away. Deal with it yourselves today,” then turning to his speechless friend, “And you can tell my people the same,” and back to me, “And have some food sent up. Whatever you think your lord would want.”

I was amused, and could not resist a token protest;

“Do I take orders from the prince of Mirkwood – or the leader of the elves of Ithilien? – Or are those my cousin’s orders? – Though I cannot imagine him being so indifferent to what food I send.”

And at that last he smiled, indeed was clearly tempted to laugh, and I would have liked to hear him, but instead he answered, very carefully,

“I don’t care whether you take orders from the prince of Mirkwood or,” and I saw him look and meet the eye of Caradhil, as though acknowledging what I had suspected the truth of the matter was, “or the leader of the elves of Ithilien or not.” And he looked back at me, challengingly, “No, those are not your lord Gimli’s orders either, they are my orders. The orders of the consort of the Lord of the Glittering Caves of Aglarond.”

And I had all I could do not to cheer as he swept back into the room, closing the door in a way which said clearly – honeymooning.

Leaving me to deal with a completely bewildered elf. Thank you, prince, I thought, you could have at least indicated what of the truth you wish your people to hear. Then I realised that with his words he had.

“Master dwarf, Droin, I – I do not quite know how to say this, but,” Caradhil was struggling, “we have heard – is it possible – is your cousin actually a female?”

Now it was my turn to be speechless. I looked at him. And I will say this, he did not blush, but bit his lip and said,

“No. That was ridiculous. Another of those old lies. And I should know better – for I heard that in the party who wrote our people’s wartime treaty there were females.” 

“Yes,” I answered quietly, “there were.”

“I mean – they – like our ladies, yours are not kept so close as men keep so often theirs, but – there is no doubting when you meet them.”

“No,” I said, remembering, “there is no doubting.”

But he did not want to dwell on that, and nor did I at that moment. He simply looked at me, confused, as though he could not understand what we had seen, what his prince had said. And I thought it best to let him think it through alone.

“I would say your prince looks well,” I continued, “and we had best do as he bid. Perhaps we should suggest that the food simply be left in his room though – I do not think half the palace needs such a demonstration.”

And, as I have since discovered is usually the way, the consort’s orders were carried out to the letter.

 

But from that day, though the two of them had all the titles, and my cousin did at least contribute many ideas and plans – Ithilien and the gardens of Minas Tirith were really Caradhil’s domain, and the gates and Aglarond became mine.

Not that either of us have ever minded. I only ever wanted work to give me purpose, work to show my Love, that when I see her again she will be proud of me and know me for a true dwarf, one who has value. And though in these long years, there have been times when I have missed my cousin, times when I would have had him by my side as we once planned, times when I too longed to travel, to wander for no purpose – I have had much. I created these caves, this wondrous dwelling. I, it was, who planned this mine, who decided year on year, how much of which precious ores could be taken. I who oversaw the growing of this colony, now the largest dwarf city outside Erebor. I who saw that these years of peace and plenty brought us renown for fair dealing, for charity to our own and to those in need. I who kept strong through trade the alliances my cousin forged through the comradeship of war with men of different races, with elves, with hobbits.

I who chose my nephew, married now to his almost cousin, daughter of Blor, in a turn of fortune which eases my heart and yet pains me in a strange way, I who chose them to rule here after me. 

I who, over the years, built a particular alliance with that flame-haired elf of Ithilien, who watched him learn new ways to structure their society, who quietly encouraged him to question the wisdom of isolationism and autocracy. For though my cousin has spent many more nights in their realm – I think he has only ever had eyes for one elf, and that elf has never cared for any such serious matters. That elf, one might say, has ever been content to leave all to his trusted friend, that he might enjoy the – to him – short years of my cousin’s life.

As for Caradhil – I think he has been pleased with his achievements.

 

And now – now I am left behind again. And this time, I will not catch my cousin up. This time, he has sailed West, the only dwarf ever to do so. Proving by this, this madness, his love – if it ever needed proof – for no dwarf will willingly sail even the shortest coastal route. Now the King Elessar is dead, and indeed we here grieved for him though he had a good death and a good life, but now he is gone I think Legolas began to fear my cousin’s death was soon to follow, and indeed they had waited long – for the promise to sail was made long ago. 

So, this time, I do not wish to catch him up. This time I am content that he should go, and I return from the harbour to my home, my caves, my life’s-work. For at my age, though I am younger than my cousin, I begin to know I have not many more years until at last I will go to the Halls of Waiting, taking with me the beads I wrought for my One so many years ago, and all the other jewellery and memories I have for her, and when I see her, I will be complete at last.

And, one day, my cousin will join me, for he will be behind me this time, such is the wonder of the lands in the West, and then my One and I will do our best to keep him occupied, to find him the work that Mahal will surely have for dwarves in those Halls, while we wait for his elf to find him – as he surely will.

But I am looking forward to seeing Thorin Oakenshield’s face on that day.

**Author's Note:**

> elves are weird. they are not human. read tolkein. they only marry/have sex for children (usually) - hence Caradhil's confusion.
> 
> ETA - the lovely Droin is (partly, vaguely) inspired by and named after Droin son of Dwalin who appears in Blossomwitch's fic, Degrees of Separation - now on AO3 - go & read it! - but my Droin is not the same, just - there are similarities, shall we say?


End file.
